(As told by Wonka)
Dorian Prescott was one of my best workers when the factory first opened. He'd been on the team since the beginning of my marvelous company, along with his father before him, at least until he passed of a heart attack shortly after we opened.
Nevertheless he refused to let it get in the way of his work. Quite the contrary, after his father died, he threw himself wholeheartedly into his work, coming up with new ideas on the spot. I had made him my right-hand man by this time, and whenever I was low on ideas, he was the first one I turned to.
About a year later, he met your mother Zinnia. By this time, Dorian was in poverty. He was an idealist, only working because it gave him satisfaction. He refused my offers to pay him, but he disclosed to me after they were married that it was something he partially regretted, as she now possessed a large portion of the estate.
He had to take time off when Zinnia was in her third trimester. Deep down, I had a feeling that their child would turn out to be special, unless of course they inherited their mother's traits, something I deeply feared. Zinnia, though quite a beautiful woman, was not the sharpest sandal in the saddle. Thankfully this was not the case, but I was not sure of this quite yet.
Just under six years passed and her birthday was coming up. I asked Dorian what the child was like, causing him to gush on about how she had such an extensive imagination. This, I knew, was my chance to test her, and so it was I, Matilda, who gave your father the notebook you so very much adore, to give to you as a birthday present, and told him to bring it back to me exactly one week after you wrote down your first candy ideas.
And one week and a half after your birthday, he brought it in. And what astounded me was not the quantity of ideas, thought that WAS rather notable as well, but it was mainly the quality and originality. I remember your very first; a chocolate toothbrush, oh, and you wrote in the margins in that adorable handwriting of yours "for the midnight snack zombie in us all." It was then I knew; I HAD to have you.
But Dorian turned hysterical at the idea; he didn't want you to harness those talents of yours. So I gave him three choices; he could either bring you here of his own free will, let himself be my prisoner in your place, or I would send spies to take you. Of course, I let him think it over. After all, I am not a terribly villainous man.
The next day, he came back by himself. He decided to sacrifice his own freedom. By this time, I had finally brought in my dear oompa loompas, so two of them escorted him away. On top of that, I didn't want any of his colleagues to be asking questions. That day I fired them all and shut my factory down.
He then became my source for new ideas whilst I was on hiatus. But Dorian was an adult. His imagination had a limit, and soon it used up all its usefulness. Once it had, I reopened my factory, but I did not allow any visitors.
But then about five years too late, you came along, and here you shall stay.
(Matilda's POV):
I take some time to process what I just heard.
"What did you do to him after his imagination was 'used up'?" I gulp unsure if I really want to know the answer.
"Oh, wouldn't you like to know," he mocks in a sort of sing-song voice.
"Wouldn't you just like to know, know, know?"
"Yeah, that's why I asked, you dodo."
"Hey! That's what you call me!" James snaps.
"Shut up, dodo!" I snap back.
"Anyway, what happened to him?"
Wonka gives a smirk, my heart sinks, and my eyes widen.
"You didn't," I gasp, my face turning pale.
"Yes, I did," he replies casually, but maliciously.
"You're sick," my voice trembles with anger.
"You're a sick, evil, vile, twisted creature of a man. If anyone should be committed to the psych ward, it's you!"
"How dare you!" he snaps.
His surprising anger makes my heart jump.
"Are you not grateful for what I've done for you, Matilda? I saved you from being institutionalized. I've recognized your genius. I've given you a home and a family that welcomes such wonderful eccentricities. And how do you repay me? Disobedience. Blatant, outright disobedience! I ought to put you out on the streets."
"Well, then, do it already!" I scream.
"You want an obedient daughter so bad? Well, you're not gonna get her from me! I don't listen to people who are rude to me. I don't listen to people who force me into situations I don't want to be in. And I CERTAINLY will not listen to a man who MURDERED my own flesh and blood, who stuck with him since this factory, no this company, was opened. So go ahead, throw me out. Do it."
For some time, silence lingers in the air as Wonka stares at me, stunned. At first, I believe I may have won when he suddenly starts to laugh quietly.
"No," he whispers as an insane grin slowly forms on his face.
"No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. NO! Certainly not. I'm NOT going to throw you out onto the streets. You know why? Because you're a challenge. And I. LOVE. challenges. You may not be obedient yet, my sweet, but you will be."
He quickly reaches out and grabs my dirty blonde hair, as he brushes his hands through it. I try to back away, but his grip is strong. Not enough to cause me any pain, but enough to prevent me from moving back.
I feel too stunned to respond. Tears begin to well up in my eyes and I try to hold them back. Wonka raises his other arm and takes me down from the hook.
"Daisy Bloom," he calls.
The oompa-loompa from the simulation room pops out from behind him with a wipe and a hypodermic. Trembling, Daisy Bloom raises my sleeve and wipes it with what seems to be alcohol. She then takes the hypodermic and gently presses it into my skin. Wincing in pain, my mind begins to go cloudy. I try to keep myself awake, but it's useless. Soon everything is still and silent.